Poor, Poor Lucy
by WhyisJohnSimmMarried
Summary: This is a short fanfic involving the Master and Lucy. Set after "The Last of the Time Lords."


|| **Hello. I'm going to skip forwards in time, presuming that you readers can accept that The Master is resurrected again by some reason. (That wouldn't help this scene, so I can't be bothered to think up and explanation.) I thought that the one thing The Master would want to do when alive once more, would be to find Lucy and settle what-ever there was between them…**

**As a warning this is not for younger readers, you know what the Master's like don't you? Reason for the rating. Don't read if you don't want to! ||  
**

The window reflected the light with the efficiency of a mirror, so the man looked saw only his own features emulated back at him. Black suit slightly dishevelled, and light hair unkempt, but still charming; none the worse for having been shot.

Oh he could have looked for longer than a glance, vain as he was, but The Master knew that too long a look and she'd see him. After what she'd done, almost welcome as it'd been; he wanted her to not see him until the last second.

The Master allowed himself a small smile, his brown eyes shrewd and almost laughing with his own self importance. Dear, dear Lucy. That "Oh so faithful companion." Poor, poor Lucy. A final farewell to be said.

The Master moved away from the windows at the front of the house, tucking his hands casually into the pockets of his coat, casually sidling toward the front door. The pretty street was empty, sun beating on the old tarmac, the trees in blossom: a rural retreat, no doubt found by UNIT at the Doctor's request for traumatised Lucy. For a moment he wondered if she'd found any peace here- but that thought was dismissed. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Although be that the case… Why then was he here?

Lucy sat almost unmoving on the cream coloured settee, one leg crossed over the other, her foot jiggling slightly, bare but for her flesh coloured tights. The television was on, but she wasn't really watching the images, more staring at a fixed point a little way above the set, her eyes wide, light and staring. A cup of tea, partially drunk was in her hands, and she sighed and brought it to her lips, sipped.

But this was too easy.

Lucy lowered the cup but did not turn, only her eyes flicking down to the television set, where in the sheen of the screen was reflected The Master, casually leaning in the door frame, eyes locking onto hers from under moody eyebrows. The cup slid from her fingers and smashed on the floorboards.

"Lucy. Dear Lucy. You knew I'd come didn't you? Clever girl. You can never escape your Master." He smirked jovially, relaxed.

Lucy looked away from the screen. She'd known that couldn't be the end of it, and yet she knew; he wouldn't just let this be the end now. "Please, don't-"

The Master stepped away from the door frame and tucked his hands in his pockets, walking with deliberate steps toward Lucy. "You should know me too well Lucy. I'm not going to listen."

"I didn't… I know I but It- I – didn't want to…"

The Master was behind her now and Lucy turned in her seat to face him, looking up imploringly, a hand clutching at the back of the seat in an animal like simple minded terror, fingers scraping the cream fabric. "Harry-"

"That's not my name!" He snapped, tense, then repeated more softly as Lucy flinched, "That's not my name Lucy. Call me by my name. Go on. Do it." He was leaning towards her and Lucy couldn't move.

She closed her eyes, "Master."

"Yes. Again."

"Master." She turned her head away, but with two fingers The master turned it back.

"And what now Lucy?"

Lucy's voice trembled. He wouldn't just kill her. He wouldn't now. "Tell me what now."

He chuckled quietly but didn't reply, and Lucy didn't move, tried not to tremble-

"Oh Lucy." The Master sighed and stepped away from the back of the sofa, walking slowly round to stand in front of Lucy, who didn't turn, but stared unblinking away.

"Oh Lucy." He repeated, and held out his hands, "Come on. Up you get." When Lucy didn't move he added another word. "Now."

Lucy complied, and turned, letting him take her hands and pull her to her feet where she stood, swaying slightly. "Lucy Lucy Lucy. Cold hands. You have such cold hands." He brought them to his lips and kissed then while she just stared, unblinking. "Oh but Lucy what you know… It's too much." The master dropped Lucy's hands and looked at her face sadly- then leaned in and kissed her.

Lucy tried very ineffectually to turn her head away, but the master held her there, didn't let her turn.

Then The Master stopped suddenly and moved back, ran a hand over his jaw, bit his lip. "You're still my wife Lucy. Aren't you? Come on then. Kiss me." He held his arms open and stared her defiantly in the face.

Lucy swayed then stepped towards him, right up his chest, then paused. She Swallowed then spoke, her voice as clear and steady as she could muster. "You're going to kill me."

The master stroked her cheek with a finger, "Oh yes. But first I'll have you."

Lucy lay across The master's chest, listening to his two hearts beating in their strange undulating rhythm through the thin fabric of his shirt. His eyes were closed and his breathing steady, although Lucy knew he wasn't asleep. She didn't think he could.

Indistinctly now Lucy remembered on the Valiant when they'd lie like this. The Master had never quite appreciated her human need to actually sleep, so he'd often lost patience with her. And of course there were those other girls, if he was that bored he could have one of them. They were just poor things he'd picked up from the work yards because of their 'pretty faces'. The first time Lucy had been jealous and angry, but he was The Master and what could she do? She'd ignored it as best she could. Oh but the only thing she couldn't stand was their pity, she could see it in their eyes. She was his wife. His wife! How bad it must be for her.

Lucy considered trying to run, but she knew she wouldn't make it out of the door, and where would she go? As if in response to her thought, the Master draped an arm over her and held her to him.

Lucy turned her eyes from him, fixed her gaze to a point in the ceiling. During that year on the Valiant she'd learnt to distance herself from the things she seen or done, or had been done to her. "And now?" She whispered, so quietly it was no more than a breath.

"And now Lucy you die." The master moved suddenly, so he was propped up on an arm, leaning over her, then leaned in and kissed her neck, her cheek, her lips.

As The Master made love to her, a hand trailed it's way to her neck, where it rested lightly then began to squeeze slowly. Lucy tried to take in another breath but failed. She brought her hands up ineffectually, tried to prize his grip loose, but her vision began to cloud and his face swam over her. The Master over her, smiling. So this was it.

"Goodbye Lucy. Thank you."

A final twisting of her arms, a tightening of his grip and Lucy stilled, the Master withdrawing from her, letting her limp body flop back onto the bed.

The master dressed quickly and efficiently, only pausing on the way out to close Lucy's staring eyes, and kiss her cold cheek.

Then he was gone.


End file.
